


Four Times Steve Unintentionally Hurt Bucky And One Time He didn't

by sherlockssexysocks



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky-centric, Comfort, Cute, Fluff, Hurt, Kissing, Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, catfa, catws, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockssexysocks/pseuds/sherlockssexysocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title says it all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Children love freely and deeply and Bucky <em>loved</em> Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Steve Unintentionally Hurt Bucky And One Time He didn't

He was young when he realized the power he had given Steve. 

(He hadn’t _meant_ to; he didn’t realize.)

But children love freely and deeply and Bucky _loved_ Steve. 

He loved his scowl, loved his delicate limbs and large hands. He loved the way he laughed, the way his mouth opened wide and he clutched his side, leaning closer to Bucky as his body shook with the effort of his laughter. He loved the way he held his pencil; how he’d place the tip of his tongue between his lips when he was concentrating particularly hard.

Bucky loved watching him. His mother had always told him he shouldn’t; that he was showing his cards to the cruel, intolerant world. 

(Told him he was transparent.)

But Bucky was a child and children love freely and deeply and even then, even at the tender age of fifteen, Bucky knew that Steve held the key to his heart.

(He gave him _too much_ ; he never saved any for anyone else.)

Fifteen. 

Fifteen is too young to feel your heart break but he can remember it like it was yesterday. 

Steve was laughing at something Bucky had said, his entire body shaking with the effort of his laughter and he was leaning closer to Bucky, their shoulders touching as Steve rocked back and forth, clutching his sides. It had been a warm summers day and the fading rays of the sun were warming their cheeks. Bucky was laughing too, his face tilted towards the sun and he was _watching_. He was watching his friend and he felt his laughter die in his throat.

(Because he had never seen anything as beautiful in his life.)

And he didn’t know what came over him but he had to _touch_.

(Bucky is a wantful man; he’s known that his whole life.)

So, he waited. He waited until Steve noticed his eyes and fell silent, his brow furrowing slightly as he gave Bucky a questioning look. Bucky felt time slow down, felt his own throbbing pulse as he moved closer, his eyes never leaving Steve’s. And Stevie, to his credit, he waited right on back, right until the moment Bucky pushed their mouths together and melted against his chest.

(Bucky’s heart was dripping from his sleeve; his whole world on display for him.)

It was fleeting, barely lasting five seconds and the next thing, Bucky felt a hand pushing at his shoulder, hard and insistent. He moved back slowly, a loud, high-pitched buzzing deafening him as he took in the confused look on Steve’s face. 

“What…what was that?” Steve whispered, one hand coming up to trace at his own lips cautiously.

And Bucky had laughed a horrible, broken sound, desperately trying to conceal the hurt and he raised one eyebrow and gave Steve a sickening smile, trying to ignore the way his stomach was clenching and unclenching with nerves.

“A kiss, Stevie.” He stated as though it were the most obvious thing in the world and Steve could see right through him; his sharp eyes widening as he calculated what had just happened.

He licked at his lips and shook his head, looking away from Bucky, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks, casting a long shadow across his peachy cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Bucky…I think…” He inhaled sharply before shaking his head. “I think I want to but I can’t. I can’t do that to Ma.”

(Didn’t want to be a sinner; to break his mother’s heart.)

But he broke Bucky’s. 

“It’s okay, Stevie.” He whispered, clearing his throat as it threatened to close with the thick press of tears. “I get it.”

 

.

 

Time passed and the children grew. 

They both grew older, grew wiser but Bucky still loved deeply and Steve _knew_.

(There were nights. Cold winter nights when they would find themselves in the same bed, kissing and touching and wanting but Steve never let them become more than that.)

It was a Saturday night in the middle of one such bitter winter and they were out. Bucky had managed to get them both dates and they were in some club that played the kind of music that made people forget about the cold and _dance_.

Bucky loved dancing, then. He could stay out in the middle of the floor with his date all night long but this girl, Arlene Johnson, she wasn’t much for dancing and spent most of the night sulking over the fact that Bucky was dancing with other girls. And Bucky was always a gentleman but Steve’s date had wandered away pretty much at the beginning of the night and he hadn’t seen his friend in a while so he dismissed Arlene without so much as a goodbye.

(And he was transparent, yes; his eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar head of blonde hair.)

He didn’t find him inside and decided, on a whim, to check outside. He didn’t care that it was early or that he’d wasted what little money he’d had left on a fruitless evening. He just wanted to get home.

(And he hoped that Stevie was cold; prayed that he’d want to share a bed again.)

He stepped outside into the bitter night air and glanced up and down the deserted streets. There was no sign of Steve and so Bucky began to walk home, his hands buried in his pockets and his head buried in a selfish place of wants and lusts. 

“I could do this all day.”

And Bucky _knew_ that cocky tone anywhere. He stopped in the street and listened to the sound of scuffling and the sickening thud of a bone connecting with bone. He sighed and marched down the alley to his right, quickening his pace when he saw Steve fall from a particularly nasty punch.

“Hey!” Bucky yelled once he laid eyes on Steve’s opponent. “Why don’t you go pick on somebody your own size!”

Steve’s dim-witted opponent sneered at Bucky, his ugly face twisted into something harsh.

“Why don’t ya tell your girlfriend here that she shouldn’t come between a man and his woman?” He challenged as he squared off to Bucky.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Steve’s furious expression as he clambered to his feet and Bucky knew he needed to finish it now so he swung his fist straight into the guys nose and sent him sprawling onto the ground, his head smashing against the wet concrete beneath them.

“Come on, Stevie.” Bucky grumbled as he held out a hand for his friend.

And his heart stopped when Steve slapped it away, a dark scowl shadowing his face. He pushed past Bucky aggressively and marched out of the alley, his hands buried deep inside his pockets as he huddled against the icy wind.

(And Bucky’s heart was drip, drip, dripping.)

“Steve! Wait up!” He called after him.

The streets were empty and they both grew older, grew wiser but Bucky still loved deeply and Steve _knew_.

“I’m not your _girl_ , Bucky.” Steve shot furiously over his shoulder. “I can handle myself.”

(No. He was his guy. His best guy. His only guy.)

Bucky rolled his eyes as he caught up with him, one large hand coming to rest on Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, alright, Stevie; you had him on the ropes.” He teased playfully, trying to lighten the mood. 

They were alone in the night, hidden by the cover of darkness so when Steve stopped and pressed himself against Bucky’s front, Bucky didn’t stop him. He waited. He waited and watched and he saw the anger simmering inside those fiery eyes. 

“You think you’re such a big guy, don’t you? A real fuckin’ hero.” Steve hissed and boy, was he drunk. 

Now that they had come to a stop, Bucky could see the way he swayed on his feet, how unfocused his furious gaze was. 

“Not here.” Bucky muttered quickly, his eyes scanning the streets carefully.

Steve snorted and pushed at Bucky, his long fingers digging into his shoulder muscles, trying to pull Bucky’s face closer to his.

“What? You’ll beg me to open you up like a dame at home but you won’t kiss me in public?” Steve argued and Bucky’s stomach churned at the cold twist of his lips, a sneer pulling at his mouth.

He pushed Steve away as gently as he could and swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his cool.

(He cared too much; he gave Steve too much power.)

“You’ve been drinkin’ whiskey.” Bucky pointed out. “Makes you mean.”

“You’re a coward.” Steve spat. “Ain’t nothin’ big or brave about you, James Barnes.”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before shrugging.

“I’ll see ya at home, Steve.”

(And Bucky’s weak and Steve _knows_ because later that night he crawled in beside Bucky as if nothing had happened and Bucky had let him open him just like a fucking dame and had even moaned his name.)

 

.

 

Some children get broken; that’s one of the sad facts of life.

Bucky got broken and twisted and shattered beyond repair, Steve became new and shiny and they both knew then.

(Knew who they were; what they wanted; what they needed.)

Bucky got caught. Them HYDRA boys found him and they got him good. 

(And it _hurt_. It hurt like nothing he had ever experienced before.)

But Steve.

Steve found him. He rescued him and he carried him like he weighed nothing and Bucky stared in awe at the man he had become.

(And he cursed the doctor that did it.)

And Bucky was angry. Bucky was angrier than he had ever been in his life because he had made his peace with God. He had accepted his ending, had mourned his own death and then _Steve_ -

No. Not Steve; Captain America.

And then, Captain America had decided to take that away from him.

(Had he wanted to die? Yes. He had wanted the pain to end.)

And Captain America-

No. Steve.

And Steve looked at him as though he had hung the moon and Bucky was furious because he was _broken_ now. He was broken and Steve was fixed and they didn’t fit together like they used to. 

“I thought you were dead.” Steve told him as they marched through the woods.

(And a dark part of Bucky wondered if Steve had even cared.)

“I thought you were smaller.” Bucky replied casually, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

Steve huffed an awkward sort of laugh and gave Bucky a small smile.

(Not _his_ smile though; it was different now.)

“I’m still the same guy.” He promised him quietly, dropping his voice in case the others were listening. 

(He’s not.)

“You shouldn’t be here.” Bucky sighed. “This place isn’t for you.”

(Bucky was supposed to protect him; supposed to keep him clear of this kind of thing.)

Steve frowned a little and gave Bucky a hard look.

“But it is for you? ‘Cause you’re doing such a _swell_ job on keeping yourself alive.” He pointed out. “Had to haul my ass all the way over here to save you.”

Bucky felt his stomach bottom out and the tears that sprung to his eyes horrified them both.

“I didn’t ask you to.” He whispered, turning his eyes to the ground. “I hope you’re not expecting me to thank you for that.”

(Because children get broken and they both knew what they needed now and Bucky’s heart was leaking again.)

Steve’s sharp inhale told Bucky all he needed to now and then Steve-

No. Captain America.

And then, Captain America marched away and rallied the troops, trying to raise the morale by getting the Commando’s to sing.

(And that night, when they were alone and because Steve _knew_ , they held each other close in the dark, their lips ghosting over unfamiliar skin and new scars until Steve gasped his name breathlessly and fell asleep with his nose in Bucky’s hair.)

 

.

 

Can a broken child be cast aside? Is it wrong?

It is wrong but they weren’t children anymore, not after what they’d both seen and done and they knew.

(They knew, they knew, they _knew_.)

But it didn’t make it hurt any less. It didn’t make Bucky feel any better when he first laid eyes on Agent Peggy Carter and watched the way her face lit up when Steve arrived back to camp.

(And if he thought that HYDRA had tortured him; that had been nothing compared to this)

And there was a crowd and they were cheering; they were cheering so loud and Steve was grinning, his eyes glued to that beautiful, beautiful woman and so Bucky had opened his mouth and yelled;

“Let’s hear it for Captain America!”

Just so Steve would look at him.

(Just so Bucky knew that he was still there.)

And they were cheering and cheering and Bucky pushed his way through the crowd carefully and he ran away from the circle around Steve and he ran and ran until he was alone and then he fell to his knees and he cried.

(Because he’d been broken.)

His heart was pouring down his sleeve and Bucky was surprised that no one had noticed and that’s when he felt the heavy weight of a hot hand on the back of his neck and when he turned his tear-stained cheeks towards the cloudy sky, he met Steve’s gentle gaze.

(Because Steve watched too; Bucky just hadn’t noticed.)

Steve got to his knees beside him, curling up on his side like he used to when he was broken and Bucky was new and he leaned in close, looking up at him through impossibly long eyelashes and the bluest of eyes.

“What’s up?” He whispered.

And they were in the open; in the middle of camp, barely concealed by a few tents and still Bucky pushed their mouths together and he tried to _show_ Steve; tried to tell him. Steve kissed back until he grew breathless and then he pulled away and cupped Bucky’s cheek.

“Words.” He ordered.

(And Bucky has never been stuck for words before. Not like this.)

“Her.” 

Steve frowned for the barest of seconds before his expression cleared and he nodded slowly.

“Peggy.” He muttered and suddenly, he wasn’t looking at Bucky anymore, a strange look shadowing his face.

Bucky rolled away from his side, his chest aching in a way that made him taste ash and iron in his mouth.

“We’re not…you and I…are we?” Steve asked as though his mouth was full of marbles.

Bucky glanced at him and shrugged.

“I don’t…we never talked about it.” He breathed.

(Because Steve was deaf and Bucky, mute.)

But they weren’t children anymore and they _knew_ and so Steve got to his feet, the strange expression still in his eyes and gave Bucky a look that could have almost been an apology.

“You’ve always had a dame or two.” He pointed out as though it explained everything.

Bucky laughed even though he wanted to cry and his smile felt as if it were cracked in two as he nodded up to Steve, full of false cheer.

“Yeah. You’re right. I get it.”

(And Steve knew, he knew and he crawled into Bucky’s bed that night and he clamped a hand over his lush mouth as he worked his hand inside of him, pressing redemptive kisses to the hollow of his throat.)

 

.

For a brief spell, all was right with the world. They were neither children or adults and that is alright because they knew.

(Bucky could taste it on his skin.)

Words failed them as they always did and Steve watched Bucky and Bucky watched Steve and there was a moment of clarity where they _knew_ but.

But Bucky fell.

(And for once, he hurt Steve.)

 

He broke.

He broke into a million different pieces and they scattered them. They scattered them all over the world, in places Bucky could never find; could never visit.

They aren’t children but they’re not adults either and when he says it, when he says;

“Bucky?”

They know. They know and they come running back together. They run through centuries until they are by each other’s sides again and when Bucky remembers, when he remembers it all; Steve breaks.

(He falls and breaks and shatters to ash and old wounds reopen and Bucky _bleeds_.)

“I thought I’d lost you.” Steve exhales, his fingers tracing familiar lips.

Bucky shivers at the touch and inches closer until their knees are touching on a bed almost bigger than their old bedroom. The sheets beneath them are softer than anything Bucky can remember touching and when he raises his own shaking fingers to mirror Steve’s actions, there are tears burning the backs of his eyes.

“I loved you.” He whispers.

Steve’s eyes close shut and he nods again and again and again.

“I was scared, Buck. I was so scared.”

( _“You’re a coward. Ain’t nothin’ big or brave about you.”_ )

Bucky leans closer until they are breathing the same air and nudges his nose against Steve’s.

“Why?” he asks.

Steve’s eyes open and they are wet now, wet and wide and terrified.

“Because…I didn’t know if I could love like you.” He swallows. “You’re love was so big, Buck, and…I didn’t know.”

(He knew, he knew, he _knew_.)

“Did you love Peggy?” He exhales against his mouth.

Steve’s mouth moves closer and he nods.

“Yes.”

(That woman. That beautiful, beautiful woman.)

Bucky presses their lips together sweetly and it taste just like it did on that hot summer day and he melts against Steve’s until Bucky feels a hand pushing at his shoulder, hard and insistent and Bucky pulls back slowly, his eyes searching Steve’s.

“I loved you, too.” Steve tells him quickly. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

Bucky swallows and closes his eyes and nods and nods and nods.

They broke. 

They broke into a million different pieces but when Steve pulls him close and presses his apologies to the crook of his neck, Bucky feels like laughing.

(Because they didn’t take this piece; they left him this much.)

They’re not children but they haven’t grown properly yet and when he says its, when he says;

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you. I love you, Buck. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Bucky lies back and pulls him near and he smiles up at him, different and yet unchanged. He licks into his mouth and sighs contentedly.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i cant stop with these two lately. 
> 
>  
> 
> lemme know what you thought xo


End file.
